


Sorrow's Victory

by SirJosephBanksFRS



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 19:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirJosephBanksFRS/pseuds/SirJosephBanksFRS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set at the end of <i>The Hundred Days</i>, Jack’s victory in the Western Mediterranean comes at a very steep price.</p><p>Not recommended to be read before finishing <i>The Hundred Days</i> because of significant spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sorrow's Victory

Jack Aubrey and Stephen Maturin sat together in silence in the great cabin of the  _Surprise_ , the most silent place on the entire ship. The hum of unusually happy voices filled her as her crew brought chest after chest aboard her and cheerful singing could be heard on every deck, despite the relatively late hour. Jack poured and then drank a wine glass full of port in total silence, which was most unusual for him. He had eaten virtually naught at supper. Stephen said nothing but watched his face.  
  
“Stephen, I find I am fagged out," Jack said finally. “I think I shall be turning in directly. We shall have a busy day of it tomorrow.”

“You are oppressed, brother.”

“I have a touch of the blue devils.”  
  
“You had tonight, as you put it, a thumping great victory, a most glorious victory, taking that evil galley at last, seeing the Moors finish off that vile wretch Murad _Reis_. You have dealt Buonaparte’s hopes and plans a crushing blow. You freed those poor unfortunates, saving them from death or a fate even worse than death and the prize money is prodigious. The crew are as ecstatic now as if we took three treasure galleons singlehandedly, as happy as crusaders recovering the Grail, the True Cross and taking Jerusalem itself,” Stephen said. Jack said nothing but stared out the stern windows. "Will you tell me? Not because I wish to compel you, but because I am your friend. Or shall I diagnose you?” Jack said nothing and looked at the floor. “You are profoundly grief-stricken.” Jack said nothing. “I should never be so very presumptuous to say anything if I had not experienced the same so recently, only three months ago. And you were my comfort as I would be your comfort, Jack, if only you will let me.” Jack buried his face in his hands.

 “I should not be so affected. I have been a sailor for thirty years. I have been in command for fifteen and there is always a butcher’s bill. We all know that. It is the life, the nature of the life; it is part and parcel. It was almost two weeks ago, a lifetime ago already. There is no time for this now."

 “He was your shipmate for most of the last fifteen years, Jack. He lived in your house, he carried your infant children in his arms, he was as loyal to you as any man who has ever lived. He was as good a man as I have ever known these fifteen years. It is entirely natural."

 “Our service is a hard one. Tis a hard life. Death may not be so very frequent, but it is necessarily a part of this life. I know that. I have no time for grief now. This is warfare; it is not for sentimental fools, it is not for schoolgirls or old women," Jack said, almost angrily. "He is angry at himself," Stephen thought, "angry at himself when given his nature and the attachments he forms, he could not but grieve this loss most deeply. He is far more affected than I have ever seen him the entirety of our acquaintance, far more than at the death of his own father." Stephen cleared his throat and spoke very quietly.

“Jack, I wept when I saw him. I thought I had no tears left in me and I wept. I have seen countless shipmates and civilian patients lose their lives before me, beneath my fingertips, under my knife, for death is a necessary part of my vocation: many, many hundreds, Jack. I flatter myself that I am not given to emotional displays, that my twenty plus years as a physician has inured me to death. I found I was wholly wrong," Stephen said.

 

Death had been nearly instantaneous for Bonden when the gun had been hit. Stephen had them carry his body down to the orlop to examine him to reaffirm that which was completely obvious -- he was gone and there was nothing to be done for him. Then, as the heat of the chase had slowed that next early afternoon long enough for Stephen to leave the cockpit, he had gone and told Jack that given the heat of the day, the fact that there was no end to the engagement in sight and not a man to be spared, it was time. Their casualties needed to go over the side. There was no time for any ceremony of any type, but they would sew him up in his hammock and bury him at sea now like a Christian, not in the manner of those wicked, abominable corsairs. Jack had somberly nodded his assent and Stephen was the sole shipmate in attendance as a witness. Old Joe Plaice and Davies brought Bonden up, half sewn into his hammock, two balls of roundshot at his feet. Stephen took Bonden's intact left hand in his and pressed it very firmly and held it whilst Plaice finished whipstitching his hammock from the top down to his waist. Stephen tucked Bonden's arm in the remaining slit and they stitched it closed and then they lifted the hammock with Bonden’s shattered body to the rail and Stephen silently said a quick prayer for him and nodded to them and then as gently as they possibly could, they eased him over the side. The water splashed against the ship as Bonden hit the sea and Stephen winced and cursed himself as tears filled his eyes again, wiped them and thought, "May God be with you, my dear, dear Barrett Bonden, always. Godspeed now, my dear," as Plaice and Davies went back below to get poor young Hallam.

 

Stephen stood up and moved to stand next to Jack.  Jack buried his face in Stephen’s shirt, circling Stephen's slender waist with his arms. His sobs reverberated in Stephen's belly.

"Forgive me..." Jack gasped and wept more.

"There is nothing to forgive, dearest soul." Jack's sobs shook his shoulders and Stephen's trunk and he shook his head "no." "Jack, the battle is done. Why should you not weep now? I have seen you shed tears over men who were little more than strangers to you," Stephen said, stroking his hair.

The pain engulfed Jack’s entire chest from his clavicles down to his belly. He had never known it like this, that it could feel so much as though his heart was being torn out of him and he was surprised by it. This was heartache, that burning massive emptiness all the way through him that he would never see Barrett Bonden ever again and he was not weeping for Bonden, he was weeping for himself. He had no idea that there was any crewman in any ship whose loss he could feel so very acutely. There was nothing for it. This was war, this was the natural consequence of warfare. He had lost several dozens of shipmates over the years, hundreds if he added up all the former ones that had died when ships had caught fire and exploded. But Bonden -- it took his breath away, the same way if he were to look up and realise his entire right arm were now gone. Now the battle was won and he felt as though part of himself was gone forever, part was missing as that living, breathing, good-humoured, infinitely patient repository of shared experiences and knowledge, that source of seemingly infinite duty and good judgment was now gone forever. No crewman's, no midshipman's, no officer's death had ever left him feeling so bereft as a commander, as an officer, as a member of a ship's company as the loss of Bonden and life must go on, the war went on, the world went on. His crew were now as happy a group of men as he had ever commanded in this very moment and in this instant, sorrow was in complete possession of him.

Jack could not express any of it to anyone -- losing Bonden was worse than virtually any loss he had ever known in his life. He only now fully comprehended the extent and depth of his affection for Bonden, unmatched by that for virtually any man he had ever commanded. Over the last fifteen years, he had come to esteem him so very highly and to a far greater extent than he had ever realised, to take his everlasting presence for granted. Bonden died as every man aboard would choose to die if he must, virtually instantly but Jack, as accustomed as he was to sudden death, was now deeply, deeply saddened that Bonden had died so quickly that his commander had not been able to say one word to him, not been able to press his hand in comfort for even one second. "This desire to have said good-bye is most selfish of me," he thought, tears streaming down his face, "infinitely selfish, thank God above he did not suffer long enough for me to say one word to him," but that did not lessen the pain.

Jack realised the degree of his grief was as or more profound than he had experienced with the news that his old nurse had died. Receiving news of her death, he had wept in his cot that night, the pain taking him back to his mother's death so long ago and that terrible feeling of hollow despair. "My old nurse, my mother -- Bonden?" Jack thought, as he wept in Stephen's shirt front, "What the devil, they are as different as chalk and cheese, goddamn my eyes..." and Stephen stroked his queue as Jack's sobs racked his person.

Jack was conscious, too, of feeling guilty because Bonden's death grieved him so very profoundly, more than any other shipmate he had ever known, more than receiving the news of Nelson's death, truth be told. More than any loss in his entire career and most upsetting to him, more than poor Hallam, the midshipman of the division and the son of an old shipmate, who died as well. Such favouritism, if it could be called that, he felt reflexively, was unseemly to his sensibilities as a commander to all of his men, as unseemly as sitting there, burying his face in Stephen's belly and weeping. He was not weeping for Hallam, though he had liked the young man very much. But he could desist in neither the sentiment nor the tears and Stephen stood embracing him around his shoulders, stroking his hair until his sobs finally ran out. Jack looked up at him and the profound pain in his bloodshot blue eyes grieved Stephen's heart and he leaned down and caressed Jack's face as he kissed him.

"Come, soul," Stephen said, very gently and he took Jack's arm, and pulled him from the chair, locked the cabin door, took him to the sleeping cabin, and made the lock fast. He undressed Jack and put his nightshirt on him. He patted Jack’s cot and Jack hopped onto it and looked down at Stephen. Wordlessly, Stephen sprang smoothly up onto the cot, leant forward next to Jack and and stroked his hair away from his face. He and Jack looked in each other's faces and Stephen embraced him as the tears ran down Jack's face.

"What about Killick?" Jack said, finally, his voice froggy as he swallowed his tears. "I have not yet dismissed him."

"He was so crapulous this evening, he shall be poured into his hammock by his mate at any moment. He will never remember his duty before the morning watch," Stephen said. "Now I shall go fetch you a sleeping draught to let you rest more easily." Stephen sat up, preparing to jump down.

"No,"Jack said, taking his hand to pull him closer. “I must be up early in the morrow, very early. You are the only sleeping draught that shall answer, Stephen. You are the only soporific I wish.”

“Then so it shall be, joy,” Stephen said, leaning forward to kiss him, “so it shall be."


End file.
